


The Devil Won't Dance, But Benton Will

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Episode Related, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Talking, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 03:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergeant Benton often goes back to Devil's End, to sample baked goods, to visit Miss Hawthorne, and maybe dance a little on May Day too. A perspective from outside UNIT can be very healthy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil Won't Dance, But Benton Will

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of references to the Third Doctor story 'The Daemons.' Set after the first Fourth Doctor story 'Robot.'

 

 

Sergeant Benton hummed as he drove. It seemed the occasion for it; the sun was shining, the roads were quite clear, and the Doctor had survived a pretty mean tangle with a giant robot. The new Doctor, that is, well, the old one but with a new face. Benton shook his head with a slight smile; he wouldn't have this problem with any other job. Not that any other job would be able to offer what UNIT did. Yes, Benton was quite happy where he was. And when things didn't make sense, the Brigadier, the Doctor, and a few choice others talked it all out with him so that it did – others like those living in the village he was currently heading to.

 

He made good time to Devil's End and waved at Margaret and Derek, the couple who'd taken over the local garage only a few months ago. Margaret mimed 'drink?' at him and Benton replied with a thumbs-up; he'd see them at the Cloven Hoof later.

 

Speaking of which, the pub's sign had been repainted recently and some new planting had been done outside too. Very nice. Benton parked his car in the pub's carpark; no helicopters this time, after UNIT's first trip to Devil's End no air travel was allowed near the place, in case any other unexplainable explosions occurred. The Brigadier had pointed out that he was the one who had to explain the unexplainable to Geneva, especially when it came to expenses. Benton was very glad that that wasn't his job.

 

Someone was cooking a roast nearby, he could smell it. Lovely, maybe it was Eleanor roasting a chicken again. She did a lovely gravy and the best roast potatoes that Benton had tasted outside of his mother's kitchen. He pushed open the pub door and found only a few tables occupied. The new landlord, Tom, nodded at him cheerily and then jerked his head to the right. Benton smiled in thanks; his companion was, of course, expecting him.

 

Several villagers greeted him as he passed, shaking his hand and asking after Jo and the Doctor. After answering as best he could, Benton found himself facing a table on which was displayed a small tea service, including, to his delight, a plate of homemade scones.

 

“How wonderful to see you again, gentle knight.”

 

Miss Hawthorne smiled at him from behind the teapot and Benton matched her expression as he sat down opposite her. “Miss Hawthorne, you knew I was coming, of course?”

 

“Of course.” Miss Hawthorne looked vaguely amused at his question. “The runes told me to expect a most welcome guest and here you are.”

 

Benton coloured slightly beneath his collar and accepted the large cup of tea she poured for him, adding just the right amount of milk and heaps of sugar. Miss Hawthorne had an unnerving habit, one of many, of saying exactly what she thought and damn the consequences. Benton didn't mind all that much; he was used to it thanks to the Doctor. He appreciated it mostly, and the tea and scones.

 

“May I...?”

 

“Oh, do go ahead, Sergeant.”

 

Benton eagerly scooped up a couple of scones and set about halving them for raspberry jam and clotted cream. Miss Hawthorne added honey to another cup of tea and took a scone for herself. She was wearing that soft grey cardigan around her shoulders again, the one she liked best for keeping out the cold. It matched her skirt and the ageing shades of her hair.

 

The tartness of the jam exploded across Benton's tongue, terrific with the smooth cream and warm scones. “Delicious, Miss Hawthorne.”

 

“I'm so glad. I'll tell Margie you enjoyed the fruits of her labours. I expect she'll have a jam jar or two ready for you the next time you visit.”

 

Benton tried to protest, as always, but Miss Hawthorne wouldn't hear of it, as always, so Benton asked her to pass on his thanks to Margie instead. Miss Hawthorne refilled his tea cup, it hadn't taken him long to drain it. The drive down had been quite warm and it had been a long day already.

 

“Something on your mind, Sergeant?”

 

Benton smiled wryly. “I suppose the runes told you that as well?”

 

“Oh no, that was the tea leaves.”

 

Benton peered into his cup and upon seeing nothing informative himself, reached for another scone. There was no point denying his troubled mind, Miss Hawthorne was like a bloodhound when she was certain of something. Not that Benton minded all that much; it was good to have someone outside of UNIT to talk to about these things, somebody who knew what was really going on.

 

“You know how I told you about the Doctor, about how he changes sometimes?” He lowered his voice, even though he was in a place filled with people that knew more than most about the strange things that could happen in the world. His training always took over.

 

“Of course.”

 

And she hadn't shown any surprise at such news. Instead she’d shown him some of her old books, there were details in them about people who could change their appearance. Miss Hawthorne had said that for all the Doctor's lofty talk of science, there was clearly something magical about him. Benton hadn’t disagreed.

 

“Well, it's happened again.”

 

“Ah.” Miss Hawthorne looked at him knowingly and served him another scone. “So you've just said goodbye to an old friend, whilst meeting a new one, when they are in fact one and the same.”

 

“Something like that.”

 

Miss Hawthorne had gotten right to the heart of the matter as always, runes or not. Benton could see the other Doctor in this new one, in the way he irritated the Brigadier and did things so unexpectedly. That was good, but it'd be a while before Benton stopped expecting to see velvet capes and white hair, just like he sometimes still expected to see Jo's wide eyes and hear the clatter of her high-heeled boots. A loss was a loss, wasn't it?

 

“You’ve been through this before, yes?”

 

Benton nodded. “Doesn’t make it any easier though.”

 

“Of course not, but at least you know the direction you’re going in. You’ll get there eventually.”

 

Time, of course. Miss Hawthorne had once discussed her views on it with Benton, when he’d been frustrated at being ordered to stay in the pub when he had wanted to instead head out to find his friends and colleagues. Miss Hawthorne had merely poured tea and talked about the importance of learning the waiting game. She’d been right too. Well, Benton’s revolver and the Doctor’s remote-controlled car had helped as well.

 

Benton finished his last scone and sat back. “How’s your new vicar working out?”

 

“Most pleasingly. His sermons are a trifle short but he seems to have a good grasp of his teachings and a clarity to his thoughts. He’s really trying with the community here, though not much actual progress is being made as yet, quite understandably.”

 

Benton hid his smile behind his tea cup. The last time that he'd seen the new vicar of Devil’s End, the man had confessed to being befuddled about how often the community turned to Miss Hawthorne, a white witch with alarming stories, for comfort and guidance. Plenty of them regularly came to the newly-built church for services, but at first no one would set foot inside until Miss Hawthorne gave the say-so. Hadn’t the last vicar mysteriously disappeared? The paperwork had certainly been all wrong for him.

 

“Maybe he’ll make some progress eventually, if he keeps trying,” Benton offered. “You never know, one day, people here might be ready again for a man of the church.”

 

Miss Hawthorne nodded and with a twinkle in her eye, gestured to the chalkboard hung near the bar, advertising the upcoming May Day celebrations. “I hope you’ll be joining us for May Day, Sergeant. You made such a good account of yourself before.”

 

Benton chuckled to himself, a little embarrassed. He had enjoyed himself at the last Devil's End May Day celebrations – the Master had been on his way to prison, the monsters had been taken care of, and the village had been able to really celebrate after surviving a very unusual and frightening few days. Miss Hawthorne hadn’t taken ‘no’ for an answer when she’d asked him to dance and whilst it had taken him a few turns to get his dancing feet under him, Benton had found that he’d quite enjoyed himself. Afterwards, he’d even taken his niece up on her idea of doing a few ballroom dancing classes together and he hadn’t regretted that yet either.

 

“Barring any ‘scientific’ emergencies, I’ll see about it,” he promised.

 

“Marvellous.” Miss Hawthorne finished her tea and began clearing the table's contents onto a tray. “Do see if the Doctor is available too. I’d like to see what countenance he’s now wearing.”

 

Benton grinned with a twinkle of his own. “Haven’t the runes told you that already?”

 

Miss Hawthorne gave him a look. “Time, Sergeant, as you well know.”

 

Benton took the full tray of empties from Miss Hawthorne, handing it over the bar to Tom with some money for his troubles. Tom swore he’d have a bottle or two of Benton’s favourite beer by May Day if the sun was shining bright and the deliveries were running on time. He added that the room upstairs was all ready for Benton and was he sure that he couldn’t stay for more than one night? Benton shook his head – he was helping with manoeuvres the day after tomorrow.

 

“I’ll walk you home, Miss Hawthorne,” he said firmly as they breathed in the cool evening air outside the pub.

 

Miss Hawthorne inclined her head in acceptance and adjusted her handbag over her shoulder. Benton eyed it, remembering all-too-clearly the heavy glass sphere that Miss Hawthorne had carried in it before and had wielded so well. It was his turn to give her a look.

 

“How’s your reticule?”

 

Miss Hawthorne merely smiled and patted her bag contentedly, probably thinking about whatever visions her crystal ball had given her recently. “Just wonderful.”

 

Benton smiled back and offered his arm. He was willing to bet that she was absolutely right.

 

_-the end_


End file.
